Lust of Life
by Cattatra
Summary: Harry is visited by someone dark and this sets him off on a journey that will seperate him from his friends and family forever. Has Dumbledore betrayed him one too many times? Rated for violence and possibly more throughout. Angst, Tradgedy and Fear ahead
1. Blood Lust

**Disclaimer;- Sadly I do not own Harry Potter. This is a Fanfic and I make no mony out of it. It is for pleasure that I write.**

This is my first posted Fic. I'd be happy to get any Reviews, good or bad.

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**Chapter 1**

**Blood Lust**

Dumbledore sighed inwardly. Installing a new minister was a tiring business, and he was tempted to believe that was one of the reasons people had been so against getting rid of Fudge. Sitting on the Wizangamot was usually an enjoyable way to pass the time. The room was light and airy, and he could hear some amusing gossip. People tended to ignore political climates in the Wizengamot, unless it was placed in front of them.

Before them now Fudge was whining, petulantly proclaiming his innocence of corruption. He would go to Azkaban, Dumbledore knew, and remain there either until his sentence was carried out or the Dementor's bought back under ministry control.

He focused back on the goings on in the room. Many around him looked bored, clearly knowing what was coming. One young scribe seemed to have nodded off, and Dumbledore watched in amusement, but understanding, as his head began to bob back and forward as he fought for unconsciousness in his uncomfortable position.

Fudge had finished speaking and Dumbledore stood to reply. He was glad he had been taking a semi interest in his speech, and took a breath to ask Fudge another question, when the door to the room opened. A harassed sectary, holding his hands over his head to ward off the white owl attacking him, ran into the room and to Dumbledore, brandishing a letter in his hand as the snowy owl bombarded him.

"LetterjustcameforyouProfessorDumbledore! I'm sorry to interrupt but- buttheowlwouldn'tleavemealoneuntilyougotit ALRIGHT HE'S GOT IT NOW! GO BUG HIM!" the youth clapped his hand to his mouth at his rudeness and began to stammer an apology, before Dumbledore waved him away, smiling. The owl was screeching loudly, flying around above Dumbledore, and he thought he recognized it, before looking down at the envelope in his hand.

It was a Muggle envelope, addressed to him in a ball point pen. Wondering who would use Muggle stationary to write to him he slit the envelope open, taking out the note inside and reading through it. As he read people around him realized something was wrong, and started to give him worried looks as he read the letter through quickly a second time.

"If you will all excuse me, something important has come up that needs my immediate attention," Dumbledore said as he made his way to the door, the white owl following after. Those who knew Dumbledore well immediately suspected why he had to go and exchanged worried glances, each telling the other that they needed to finish this quickly in case Dumbledore required any of them.

Dumbledore knew who the owl was now. He also knew it wouldn't be going so frantic if the situation wasn't grave. The neat but shaky handwriting in the letter spurred him on until he came to a place he could Apparate from. He did so immediately, not even nodding to the attendant on guard, who looked taken aback by the expression on Dumbledore's face, which was one of fury, worry, and concern.

:

Petunia Dursley twitched the curtain aside as she had often done before when spying on her neighbors. This time however, she was not looking at her unworthy neighbors, but looking desperately for something else. Fearfully she let the curtain drop and continued to pace the room. Her husband was at work, and for that she was thankful, because he would surly have gone mad at her for what she was doing. Dudley had been sent round one of his friends houses, complaining all the way, saying he didn't want to leave his mother alone with the freak. She had silenced him with a look, and he had gone, fearful of his mother in that moment. And she had written a letter and got her nephews owl to deliver it. She had worried that the owl wouldn't do it for her, but it had gladly gone, flying faster than she would have thought possible.

She looked at the sofa nervously, at the boy laying there in silence. He was silent only because he had screamed his throat raw; blood was seeping from long gashes to his face and his clothes were red, where only a few hours ago they had been grey. She got a clean cloth and tried to get rid of the fresh blood, trying to ignore the expression of fear and pain that covered the youths face, his mouth working furiously and small, whistling noises coming from him as he breathed. His hair was matted with blood too, and was held off his face by the sticky liquid, showing her clearly the boys forehead, the only place that was not bleeding. There was however a scar, a decade and a half old, of a lightning bolt. It was the only uncut place on the whole body.

Someone was knocking at the door. She put a bloody hand to her face in fear and put the cloth in the bowl of red water beside the sofa, hurrying to the door and looking though the letterbox to see who it was. Then she thankfully pulled the door open, admitting the old man who stood there in blue robes and long grey beard tucked into the belt. His blue eyes met hers for a moment before they swept to the door to the front room, followed soon after by the rest of him.

:

Harry was laying on the sofa. His shirt, which was usually grey, was now a dark red, held together mostly by the blood as it began to dry, only to be replaced by fresh seconds later. The jeans were now black, from the bottom of the leg to the waist, and were also ripped, and undone, the button and zip ruined. His bare arms were covered in cuts, pouring blood onto the towels Petunia had put on them and turning them red too. His green eyes were gazing at nothing, wide open and unblinking. The only sign of life was the blood still pouring from him and the mouth that was trying to scream still.

"How long?" Dumbledore asked, kneeling beside him and trying to lift his shirt, causing Harry to pull away, gasping silently.

"Since about ten," Petunia whispered, collapsing in an armchair. "Vernon had just left for work, and Dudley had just got up. It started with him just moaning, I thought he was having one of his dreams so I left him. But he started to scream, so I went up. He was just sitting there, as though he was seeing something terrible, screaming his head off. He tried to push me away, and that's when I noticed the blood and cuts, because it was dark, you know? I got Dudley to help me down with him and when I couldn't stop the bleeding or the screaming I sent the owl. That must have been about half past ten."

Dumbledore looked at the clock. It was gone midday. Over two hours like this, he realized, looking back at Harry. He placed a hand over Harry's pale brow and concentrated

:

He had woken at seven. The dream had been different for once, it hadn't been the one with Sirius, it had been with him. He had fallen through the Veil instead, and the moment he had made contact he had woken. Laying gasping on his bed for a while calmed his racing heart, and his legs finally felt like they could support him.

He went to the bathroom and threw up, as he had each day during the holidays, then returned to his bed. He had felt that something was wrong but shrugged it off when nothing happened. He heard his aunt and uncle get up, have breakfast, and heard the front door shut as his uncle went out.

The feeling of unease intensified, then something had grabbed him by his hair, and a hand had covered his mouth. He had tried to scream but the hand refused to release him. Then the cuts had happened. The knife had appeared in Harry's vision and he tried to struggle, but he was tied now. He didn't remember being tied, or what too, but he was unable to move, feeling the ropes cutting into his flesh. The hand had been removed and he had taken a breath to yell when he realized two things.

One, if his aunt and cousin had barged in with this person here, knife in hand, they might get killed.

Two, opening your mouth when your assailant has just released you is not a good idea.

The gag had been put into place and tied before he could decide anymore, and a chilly finger stroked down his face, across his jaw line and to his neck. He shivered with revulsion. The knife lowered to just below his temple, and he yelped when it sank into his skin, following the trail of the finger. He whimpered with the pain, trying to edge away from the figure, visible now as an outline against the overcast sky. He felt sick. He shut his eyes, gritting his teeth on the leather gag in his mouth. Blood begin to drip off him onto the bed below him and then the figure was sitting on him, its mouth to the cut, licking the blood off his face and neck.

It was sitting on his stomach, making it hard to breath. It did the same to his other cheek, this time not giving the blood time to collect enough to drip off him before it was drinking it down. The knife began to flit across his face, small cuts and large, and he was screaming into the gag, writhing under the figure frantically, which only seemed to make it more excited.

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Dumbledore drew out. He didn't want to relive anymore of that. He suspected he knew what had happened anyway, and kept his hand on the forehead. Harry had ceased all movement now. Dumbledore had to look hard to see any breath. He closed his eyes again.

:

He had become numb to the pain, the disgust, the self loathing. His mind was hidden, numb, somewhere in his head, blocking out everything. The figure put his clothes back on, kindly, gently, as though he actually cared. He put a delicate white hand over Harry's uncut lips and removed the gag, cutting through it with one if his sharp, long nails, leaving a gash over Harry's lips. This new pain, so long after the others, bought him out of his sanctuary, and he gasped. The man gently brushed his lips over the blood on Harry's lips, finishing with a kiss, delicate, chaste. Harry opened his eyes, looking up into another pair of green ones, feverish with lust, set in a perfect white face. The pale lips moved, but Harry could not understand what they were saying. Then the bonds on his body were gone, as was the person atop him. For a moment he lay there, unable to move, until he sat up, looking round the room now covered in blood. He lifted a hand, watching as the blood began to pump out of him, and began to scream.

:

Dumbledore stood. He knew what he had to do now. The law in such matters was firm, and failure to follow it bought dire repercussions. He went upstairs slowly, not looking at the boys' aunt. It seemed she also knew what was about to happen, and she was trying to catch his eye.

He followed the trail of blood to the small room. It was covered in blood, and he knew that before he left he would have to deal with it. He saw what he was looking for immediately. A knife, black in handle, sheaf and blade, lay on the table beside Harry's sodden bed. He reached a hand out, picking up the hated thing gingerly. Then he was back in the doorway to the front room, and the woman was standing in his way.

"Move. I have no choice, it must be done." He said simply, his eyes almost black with grief and steely with determination. The woman shook her head, holding her apron in her hands and twisting it tightly in them. He reached the empty hand to her and she stepped back, her face agonized as he forced her to do his bidding. She tried to reach out to him as he went past, tried to stop him. This was her sisters' child, and even if she had not been fond of the child, she remembered a time when she had loved her sister, and out of duty to that memory she tried to stop this from happening.

He raised the knife. The boy on the sofa was barely breathing, still bleeding profusely onto the clean white carpet, turning it scarlet.

:

Harry turned his head slightly to see his headmaster. Something twisted in his gut, at the emotionless look on the mans face, and the black knife in his hand. He knew that knife, he could feel it still in his flesh, burning through what blood he had left.

He could feel something changing in him, a coldness seeping through his veins in place of blood. It had nearly filled him by the time Dumbledore had come down, and the fear at seeing the knife again finished the change, the coldness entering his brain. He arched on the sofa, cold turning to white hot flames, charging through him. He could feel himself begin to heal, the flesh closing together as the last of his blood was expelled from him. He sensed a change in the air and lifted a hand, halting the downward stab from the knife, ignoring the pain as it went through his hand. In fact there was no pain. His eyes opened and they were pure white, with a black pin prick for an iris. It regarded the now fearful man in front of him as he backed up, sheltering a thin, black haired woman behind him.

The thing that was Harry swung a leg of the red sofa. He was hungry, and in front of him were two meals ready for the taking. Something twisted in his gut though and he groaned, clutching at it. The knife was in his hand still, and he pulled it out whilst still crouched over, looking at it as though it was a lifeline.

My name is Harry Potter, I am Harry Potter, this is my aunt and Dumbledore and they are my friends and I shall not kill them I shall not harm them I shall not-

He straightened, colour fading from his eyes again as he smiled, showing extended incisors to the petrified woman and man who was now regretting that he had not been faster to get the knife. The thing grinned and raised the black blade.

Harry Harry Harry Harry Harry, he bent over groaning again, his eyes going nearly totally green this time. I am Harry I am I am I I I I-

He growled with frustration and leapt for the old man, pushing him out of the way to bring the knife to the woman's neck. Let him watch while he killed her.

"I'm going to enjoy you woman," his voice was icy, guttural, as though he had not spoken in years. It was not Harry's.

Harry Harry Harry Harry Harry! His eyes blazed green and he dropped the knife, howling and bringing his hands to his eyes, backing away from his terrified aunt and into the kitchen. Dumbledore had pounced on the knife and was advancing on him again, holding the knife in front of him like a shield.

"Harry Harry Harry Harry Harry Harry Harry I am Harry I am I I am I Harry am I Harry I am I Harry I am I I am I I Harry Harry Harry Harry I am Harry I- Dumbledore!" he looked up, his eyes green again and his whole body protesting, knowing what it wanted, while his mind refused to give in to the blood lust, refusing to kill the people in the room. But the smell of blood was driving him mad, it seemed to surround him and-

He leapt on the thought and past Dumbledore, to where the towel that had been on his arms was, bringing it to his face and beginning to suck, feeling the scant liquid slide into his mouth and down his throat. He growled as he felt the madness trying to take over again, demanding fresh blood, demanding him to take that which was his, tempting him with power, glory, mastery. He forced it away, forced himself to be content with what he was getting.

But it was nearly dry now, and he was looking for more, and his face fell to the sofa where there was a small pool of blood that had not soaked through the new leather. He drank it desperately, hating himself for what he was doing, knowing why and hating himself for it. He wanted to rip his skin off, pull out the teeth and bow down to Dumbledore that he might kill him yet. But he knew Dumbledore wouldn't now. He shouldn't have been able to hold out against the blood lust this long, he should have killed and drank from both Dumbledore and Petunia within seconds of waking, yet five minutes on he was drinking his own blood rather than kill them for theirs. Dumbledore would hope there was a way to save him, so that the only one who could kill Voldemort would be alive to do it.

The pool was gone and he thrust himself away from the floor and swayed, ignoring the two people in the room and running to the door. As he reached it the front door opened. His heart nearly stopped beating. Yes, he felt responsible for his aunt because they were family, and for Dumbledore because he had been kind to him all the time he had known him. But for the person in front of him he held no such compassion.

He leapt for his cousin before anyone knew what was happening. His mouth went to the jugular and he bit, almost orgasming at the taste and bliss. He managed to suck twice before Dudley screamed and tried to pull away, punching Harry on the head and sending him flying backwards, shaking him out of the spell at the same time. He growled and pushed past Dudley, holding his hand out and curling his fingers around the knife that he had summoned as he ran into his blood stained room, slamming the door behind him and blocking it up with magic before attacking the furniture for the slightest trace of blood.

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Ten minutes passed. Dumbledore made his way cautiously up the stairs. Silence came from the room that had sounded like it had a werewolf in it moments ago. He turned the handle, his wand in hand, and pushed. It didn't move. He pointed his wand at the door and muttered something.

:

Harry leant against the wall under the window and wept, his chest still, not a breath passing his lips. In silence tears fell down his blood stained face as he took in what had happened. What _shouldn't_ have happened. It was supposed to be impossible. Wizards weren't supposed to be vampires too. No vampire would attack a wizard and 'initiate' them. The result was rumored to be too powerful. He would have to agree with that. He could feel his magic pulsing through his veins, centered in his gut. He suspected this was what had stopped him from giving into the spell of vampires, the blind blood lust. And it was at least ten times more powerful than it had ever been. Never had he been able to think something and have it happen, as he had when blocking the door, or summoning the knife.

Someone was coming up the stairs. He was balanced on his feet and crouched low before he realized it, knife at the ready. He didn't recognize the tread. Not his uncle, aunt or cousin then. He watched the door like a hawk as the handle turned, then turned back.

The door exploded into the room and Harry flew out, pieces of wood cutting and lodging in his flesh, all ignored as he leapt for the attacker outlined in the dust. They flew backwards along the corridor, coming to rest at the top of the stairs, the mans head over thin air. Harry gasped with exertion.

Vampires get everything from the blood, Harry remembered in that moment. They get food, drink and air from it. Ron had asked whether they could get that any other way and Lupin had said only air and drink. It was still needed for food. That was why he hadn't breathed since drinking his own blood. Now he was needing air again, the oxygen in his own running out.

He knelt above Dumbledore, resting his hands on the floor behind him and throwing his head back, his mouth wide open and drawing air in desperately. He crawled backwards off Dumbledore until he hit a wall, resting his spinning head on it as he forced his body to accept air via his lungs rather than his stomach. He sensed Dumbledore sitting up but would have been unable to do anything but drink his blood at the moment, even if he had attacked.

"Please," he begged when his lungs began to work properly, though protesting. His voice hurt to use. "Please, Dumbledore, please," he barely knew what he was pleading for, longing only to be killed. He knew Dumbledore wouldn't do it though. He didn't know anyone who would once they knew. No one, not even if they knew how painfully he was suffering.

Dumbledore was shaking his head as he stood, looming over Harry darkly. Harry took the knife in his hand and held it up to him, his green eyes begging.

"Please," his voice was barely a whisper, baring his throat to Dumbledore.

Only this knife, now that Harry had accepted it, could kill him. It was his knife, made of the blood he had drank whilst holding it, changed into a metal and sharpened to a thin blade. He begged Dumbledore to take it and thrust it into his neck, to stop the pain that now and forever would be his life. The knife was taken from his hand and he closed his eyes, relief flooding through him as Dumbledore held it above him.

He heard it slice against flesh, his hearing enhanced in his new being. His eyes flew open when he realized the flesh was not his own, seeing Dumbledore crouched in front of him, a wrist held out to him, blood dripping off it, the knife held in Dumbledore's other hand. Harry looked fearfully into Dumbledore's eyes, pushing the smell of blood from his mind as he begged Dumbledore not to do it. The wrist came closer to his face and he pushed it away, blood dripping tortuously onto his hand. He scrubbed at it before he could loose control on himself and attack Dumbledore.

The wrist was back however and the other hand was behind his head as he leaned away from the blood that he longed for, stopping him from moving as the old man offered his wrist to the young boy. Harry shook his head again and tried to crawl away, but Dumbledore had him by the hair now and he yelped at the sudden pain. In that instant Dumbledore forced his wrist into Harry's mouth, blood covering his tongue in seconds.

He fought against the urge to drink deeply, his eyes widening as he looked into Dumbledore's kind and knowing face, as the man nodded gently and held his wrist in place. Harry felt his eyes roll into the back of his head in bliss as he took the mans arm gently into his hands, drawing the blood out of the cut gently, savoring the sweetest meal he could ever taste. He controlled his movement though, refusing to bite to get more blood, refusing to drink until he was full, refusing to drain the man before him who was offering more than he knew. Harry could feel the blood enter his system at the same time as the magic did too. Dumbledore tasted of honey and sunshine, of old books and new faces. Memories flooded his mind and he drank it all. Nutrients, magic and memories were the three things he could take from blood. Harry knew that in the instant even though he had never leant it in any class. Experience that could never be written down taught him many lessons that could never be read and understood.

Why had Dumbledore not killed him? He wanted to die, he didn't want to have to live like this, drinking other people's memories and magic into him, where they stuck, the magic making him stronger in his own, the memories haunting him in the dark of nights. Let him die now, whilst drinking this magic honey of life. That was a good way to die.

But Dumbledore didn't take the knife up again and Harry finished, pushing the hand away with his forearm, drugged into a stupor of hate and bliss. He sat there for a while, not knowing what was happening around him, his arms resting on his knees and his head drooping on his chest, shutting the world out.

:

A papery hand reached under his chin and lifted it up, forcing Harry to look again into someone's face. It was one he didn't know at that time, but he was sure the nose, with chunks missing, and the blue glass eye should have reminded him of someone. A finger was placed in his bloody mouth and tested his new fangs, drawing more blood. He moaned and spat, trying to get rid of the loathsome yet glorious taste as a memory of a young boy getting on a train entered his mind, and a spurt of magic entered his veins. The finger was removed and a conversation was happening above him. He tried to listen, or at least listen for words that might pertain to his fate.

"You know better than over it..... remarkable....thing like it..."

"...your duty to...law...death."

"Yes," Harry muttered, his voice breathy, drugged and slurred.

"What?" Moody snapped. That was it, Moody. That was the name of the man.

"Death..." Harry muttered, his head spinning and his stomach churning as it tried to reject what had been absorbed. "Let it end...the pain," his face screwed up as it increased at his admittance of it.

"See?" Moody hissed, "See what you are sentencing the boy to?!"

"He is the only chance, Alastor, no one else can..."

Harry knew then that his fate was decided, and as he sank into the blackness, his heart fell into despair, and all thoughts for a normal life, and a quick end, were destroyed.


	2. Suffeing in the Dark

Disclaimer;- I do not own Harry Potter and write this purly for fun. If people take offence by my treatment of Harry and others then I would ask you not to flame me or any such like but to quietly ignore my fic from now on. Thank you.

J.K. you're brilliant!

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Chapter 2

Suffering in the Dark

The pain had become background. He had woken twice, only to fall unconscious before anyone could realise. He caught an argument the first time, and crying the second. The pulsing of blood was nearly gone when he woke the third time and hunger was twisting his chest. He kept his eyes shut and tried to work out where he was.

Seconds later he thought he had an idea as screaming came from bellow him. The portrait of Mrs Black. He was at Grimmauld Place. His heart sank even lower than it was and memories flooded his mind of Sirius. Some were not his own, from when Sirius was at school, a pair of eyes that were not his watching as he asked his first girlfriend out, as he cried when she dumped him three months later, as he and James Potter planned how to get back at the potions master for setting them five pages for homework. Dumbledore's memories, he thought grumpily.

Knife! He searched his senses desperately for the blade. Downstairs in a magic proof container. He was loathed to eat without it, something that seemed to be ingrained in his being now, and he was hungry. He threw the light covers off him, noticing vaguely that he wore only a pair of draws, and tried to swing his legs off the bed.

They collided with iron bars. He opened startled green eyes to see his 'bed' was in a small cage, only encompassing a small, thin mattress. He felt himself go cold with fear. Why had they caged him up? Had he hurt someone? What was he doing here alone? Why was no one here to know when he woke? Were they leaving him here to go mad with hunger? He could not die except by his own knife, not even of hunger. But what would he do without food? He would go mad, madder than he had when first infected. He would kill fly's by looking at them, straining to reach them to eat but unable to because of spelled bars…

He shook his head. This was doing nothing to help him. He stood on the mattress, holding onto the bars as his legs wobbled under him. He suspected this room was one of the many bedrooms in the house, in disuse even with the many people living here now. Other than his bed in the centre of the room the room was empty and dark. Not even carpet, wallpaper or paint. Just bare floorboards and brick. It looked as though a wild animal had lived here for a while, and the walls had chunks missing and the floorboards were bloody. The sight made his mouth water.

Something behind him growled. He twisted, gazing into the shadows in a corner. Something grey was laying there. It unfolded and made its way towards him. As it got closer he realised it was a wolf. Most likely, it was a werewolf. Lupin. He mentally worked it out. He had been here for two weeks. It had been near new moon when it had happened, and it must be full moon now, if Lupin was in his change. Harry backed up against the bars behind him, terrified of the creature in front of him. He knew the bars would hold, he knew the creature could not kill him anyway, but it could hurt him. It could make him scream and beg to be killed. And they wouldn't kill him. He knew now what they were going to do. They were going to send him mad. They were going to send him mad with hunger and fear and they would let him loose on the world to find and kill Voldemort. They would set it up and put him in a cage and let him go like a terrier in a barrel of rats.

"Let me out!" he screamed, clawing at the bars behind him. "Help! Help! Please!" the wolf snarled and was in front of him, snapping at his fingers though the bars. He screamed and fell back, landing hard and hitting his head against the bars on the other side. The jaws were there too now and he realised there must be two werewolves in with him. He screamed again and huddled in the middle of the mattress, jaws snapping centimetres from his bare arms. He shut his eyes in desperation and flung magic against the bars. All that happened was that he got a headache. They were spelled to hold magic in, even magic as strong as his. He was crying fit to burst now, screaming as the wolves flung themselves at him.

For half an hour the assault went on. the wolves eventually grew tired and slid off into the dark.

He began whispering under his breath, and a pen appeared in front of him along with paper.

"I am Harry James Potter I live at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I have one aunt and she has a son and husband. I grew up in their house." The pen was rushing across the paper as he spoke. "I write this in the event that I do not survive whatever is going to happen to me. At the moment I am on a thin mattress in a cage no bigger than the mattress, and it is in the centre of a room in my godfathers' house. There are two werewolves in the room too and they keep trying to attack me. Even though I know they cannot kill me I fear them more than anything at this moment. I wish that they could kill me but it is impossible.

"At the new moon, probably two weeks ago, I was attacked by a vampire. He took me and made me a vampire too, against all that I had been taught about wizards not being able to become vampires. I know the ways of vampires instinctively and hope that someday they can be eradicated completely, for their own sake. I would gladly die at any moment, and if someone would come at me with my knife I would bare my chest or neck that they wouldn't miss.

"I know however why they are keeping me alive. They want me only to kill Voldemort. I am the only one who can. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies, and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have powers the Dark Lord knows not, and either shall die at the hand of the other for neither can live whilst the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord, shall be born as the seventh month dies. That prophecy was made shortly before I was born. Only I can kill Voldemort." One of the wolves, who had been sitting silent for a while threw back his head and howled. Harry gazed at it fearfully as the pen continued to write. Three times the wolf howled, sending shivers through Harry as he huddled smaller, each one sounding as though the creature was having his heard wrenched out.

When silence returned Harry turned back to the paper. He was surprised to see it had written about the howling, but he continued in a dull voice.

"If it was new moon and it is full moon now, then I guess I can go two weeks without blood. I can feel the lust coming over me as I sit here, and I do not know how long I can go before I try and attack the werewolves that prowl around my cage. Even though I know doing so shall only cause me pain, and that I will still be hungry after, I know I shall try. When I woke this hunger was merely annoying. Now it is getting serious, and I have no idea how long I have been awake. It might have been ten minutes, it might have been an hour. I have no way of knowing. There is no clock in the room and my watch, along with all my clothes except my underwear, has been taken from me. I feel the cold creeping on me, and it is not the physical kind. It begins here, in the stomach, and spreads to the chest. Then the arms and legs, and then it will reach my head. Then the madness will take me and I will try to get blood anyway I can. I was lucky at my aunts house. I had bled all over and could drink that. I did attack my cousin for a second, but it tasted disgusting, a love of pain and, dare I say it, rape. I fear he has at least though of raping women. He craves dominance. But back to my tale. I drank what blood of mine that I could, then attacked Professor Albus Dumbledore, thinking he was an enemy. Seconds later I realised my mistake and backed off. I begged him to kill me then, I handed him my knife and he took it. I shut my eyes so that he would not have to look at them in that instant of death and heard flesh split. None can understand what that sound is without vampire instincts and hearing. It is one of the most erotic sounds there is, but in that moment I longed for it to be my flesh. Instead it was Dumbledore's. He cut his wrist and forced me to drink it. I tried not to; please believe me when I say that. I hate myself for giving in, I would have died rather than drink anyone's blood. I know now that he merely wanted to know how long I could go without food, that he was keeping me sedated long enough to return me here so he could control me. I can not hate him for if I do I find myself longing to rip his throat out, and I must restrain from these feelings as long as I can, for my own sanity. I long to see a friendly face, or even the sun. My gut pulses as I suddenly realise something, and tears are filling my eyes. I shall never be able to see the sun again without great pain. I shall have to live forever in darkness, in the night. Perhaps it is for the best? I have always preferred the night." at some point he had stopped talking, the pen scritching along the paper still, controled by something in his mind. "My aunt and uncle were in bed then and I could cry in peace, without them knowing. It stopped as I grew older of course but even now, at… how old am I? Have I become sixteen yet? I do not know. My birthday was on a full moon night, but is it this or one to come? How I long to see the sun again. When something is withdrawn from you, you seem to long for it all the more. A blind man longs for sight, a deaf man longs for sound, and a man forbidden to venture out in sunlight longs to see it again, even if he would die from it. I would gladly die, if it meant I could spend one day, one hour, one minute, back in my old life. The hunger has spread to my arms. It is nearly over. I can feel myself beginning to prepare to eat again, longing for the taste that I loath. Oh that I had my knife and an enemy. I would kill them in an instant and drink from them, leaving them shrivelled and empty like-

"It is creeping up my neck. I am sorry for what I may do next. I hate this, I long to die. I beg those who say they love me to prove it, and kill me now."

I will not give in easily... he promised himself.

The door opened. Harry lifted his head slowly, looking dully at the old man there. The wolves came up to him, sniffing him and wagging tails. Wolfsbane, Harry thought slowly, trying to hold the rage back for a moment longer, they must have taken Wolfsbane potion. That's why they let him enter. Part of the cage was sinking into the ground, and Dumbledore was sitting on the mattress in front of Harry. Harry shook his head and tried to push him away, back out of the cage and away from him in his near imminent blood lust. Dumbledore held his knife in one hand. Harry's eyes were drawn to it like a magnet. He picked up the paper and pointed out the last line.

I beg those who say they love me to prove it, and kill me now.

The old man took the knife and placed it gently against the boys upturned and exposed neck. Harry smiled longingly and shut his eyes again, imagining he was laying in the sun at Hogwarts with his friends. He was sorry he didn't have a chance to say goodbye, but he hoped the little he had written would show them how much pain and suffering living would be.

The knife was removed and the sound of sliced flesh entered his hearing. His eyes filled with tears as the wrist was placed against his bloodless lips. Neither eyes nor lips did he open. The other hand, now knifeless, came to his hair again and yanked it back, causing him to gasp again and be forced to drink from the man he thought had loved him once. He struggled more this time, but the old hands had hidden strength in them and he could not wriggle from them, as the blood poured onto his tongue. It was driving him mad, sending exotic sensations to his loins that excited and disgusted him. This was not normal, this was not right! Why would Dumbledore not listen to his longing to die? Did the man not care at all? Eventually he lost control, bruising the mans arm as he bit deep into the flesh, taking the blood that fed his body and destroyed his soul. Tears fell in copious amounts as he dragged the blood into his system, and he fought when Dumbledore eventually pulled away. A blow to the head knocked him away though, and he watched, dazed from the blow, as Dumbledore left without a word to him, the wolves laying back down to rest.

"Please," he said, not realising that the pen had written all through his feast, and continued now. "Please kill me. Leave me my knife at least. I cannot sleep without it, I fear."

He did not sleep for two days, while during the night the wolves kept him company and during the day he screamed in fury and despair. He could hear Hermione crying outside the door once, Ron shouting in his room a lot too. Meetings in the shut off kitchen were open books to his ears, and the tears of his loved ones struck deep within him. Through out this all the pen continued to write, never running out of ink or paper, telling people what he was feeling and thinking, all about his life that he had never told anyone, until the present day. He worried about his aunt. As his blood no longer resided in his veins, would the protection on her and her family still be there? He hoped someone had thought of that.

When the wolves left on the last night of the full moon Harry cried again. They had been the only way to keep track of time in this place. He knew he must be sixteen by now and that night he had sang happy birthday to himself sadly. The larger wolf had lain close to him that night, keeping him company. When he left he looked back at the small boy in a cage and had left with a dejected tread.

Harry was desperate for sleep. He hadn't slept for five days and his eyes were red. He had kept track of time roughly by the times he had needed to go to the bathroom. Every two hours wasn't it? So he had marked the floor outside his cage each time he had gone. At least that was still regular. As soon as he had finished it was cleaned again. He felt degraded, having to do it like this, but no other way was forthcoming. He created a nest for himself in the mattress with his thin cover and hard pillows.

He lay there unspeaking, dictating to the pen through his mind. He was facing the door, looking under it to see when people went past. It was always light outside, so it was no way to tell the time of day or night. People sometimes walked softly past or stopped for a few minutes, but he had long ago stopped crying out to them. When someone stopped this time he ignored them, his eyes unfocused and concentrating on the pen. The door began to swing open and he focused on it at once, sitting up, dishevelled, smelling of his own extremes and old blood, stale sweat and fear. To the person who walked through the door it must have caused them some distress, for they cried out and turned away. He shielded his eyes from the light and pulled a cover over his head, hiding from the light and distress.

"Oh, oh," the person protested into another's shoulder. Female, male, his nose identified. He hid deep within his nest and waited for them to look at their pet monster and go away. They didn't have his knife, they weren't there to kill him, therefore they were not welcome.

"Harry?" under the covers Harry bared his fangs in distress. It was Ron! Why? Why torture him in this way? Why were they sending his two best friends to him now? He wondered how to stop their visits forever, to stop the light and longing to die, which seemed to have dulled over the two days alone.

"Harry? Oh Harry, please say something to us!" Hermione now, tears in her voice, though not on her face yet, he could tell.

He opened his mouth to beg them to go or kill him, but it wouldn't work. A croak was all that came out, parched from water for so long. Though the blood gave him all he needed, it did not keep his eyes, nose and mouth moist. He gasped at the realisation that he was dehydrating and created a new piece of paper and sent the pen running over it, before sending it magically through the bars, along with his five day diary.

I cannot speak. I do not remember the last time I drank anything but blood. Please, bring my knife and kill me. If you knew what I was going through you would kill me in an instant. You have no idea. This is worse than Cruciatus, if that is possible. Please, take this with you and read it. I wrote it since coming here. Get it published after I am killed, if ever, so people have no qualms against killing vampires in the future. Keep it safe. I am sorry I could not speak to you. Please go, or kill me. I prefer the latter. If it is you who killed me, I would be at peace, I feel. But I would not wish it upon you to have to do if you do not feel you can. Could someone give me a clock, or a calendar, or both? I have no idea what the day is. I celebrated my birthday the last day Remus and the other wolf was here. I did not know the day, you see. If it was the 31st, then today is the second. I have not slept since the 28th, if that is the date. I hate this place. Please, ask someone to kill me. I do not want to live, even if I am the only one who can- I will not say. You will read it in these notes if you do read them. Tell everyone I love them, please? I do not know if I shall remain sane for long. I feel the madness at odd times. It has been growing in me though.

I have asked for very little as your friends. I ask only this now.

Kill me. End my suffering. Stop it all.

Please?

Hermione was crying by the time they finished reading it. Ron began to speak but the air in the cage became full of shreds of cloth that had once been Harry's cover. He was screaming, his voice raw with pain and suffering, trying to get rid of them now. He threw himself at the bars, trying to get through the magic to claw at them, begin thrown back again and again as the power resisting him grew stronger each time. Hermione began to go to him, then more people were in the room. Someone dragged his two friends out the door whilst more people entered, wands pointed at him as he tried to find a place to hide against the lights from their wands, shielding his eyes, grown accustomed to the dark, whilst at the same time distressed with all these people around him, their smells closing in on him and their eyes boring through him. He howled, burying his head under a pillow as a spell was sent through the bars at him. It hit and the pain, which had before been a dull ache, flared up, causing his assaulted throat to emit a scream that was strangled and broken.

"FOOLS! TURN THOSE LIGHTS OFF! GET OUT!"

No, Harry thought weakly as he collapsed against the mattress under him when the lights were extinguished. He began to sob dryly, his throat protesting again and again, his whole body ringing with pain. Some of those around him left, some remained. He could recognise the few. Dumbledore, Moody, Mr Weasley, Snape. He couldn't even bring himself to think up a way to hate Snape in his new form. It would become a murderous intent to kill him, and he refused to kill anyone.

The door shut and one wand remained lit. The cage opened but he lay there as though dead, not reacting when Dumbledore lifted him into a sitting position and helping him drink some water. He gulped it down, gasping as it soothed his parched and raw throat, and wishing there was more when the glass was empty. He choked on the last mouthful and was settled gently back on the mattress, a new, clean, thicker cover placed over him as he lay still and unresponsive, letting this happen, hoping that whoever had the knife he could sense would take it out and kill him. The cage was sealed again and he tested his voice, muttering under his breath a children's rhyme. It was sore, certainly, but bearable.

"I think his mind must have gone already, Albus, if he is singing children songs to himself," Snape sneered. In a second Harry was on his feet and lunging at Snape through the bars. The magic gave slightly and his arms were through the bars and clawing for Snape, longing to sink his fangs into the white skin and-

A spell hit him and he was thrown away from the bars to hit against those behind him. He shuddered at the loss of control and hid his face in his knees, his shoulders shaking in the cold air as he sobbed silently. He sensed Mr Weasley reaching a hand to him through the bars and flinched away, eyes wide, knowing it was him who had his knife.

"Please," he begged, grasping the mans hand in both of his. "Please, please," he could say nothing else, and he didn't know what Mr Weasley thought he was begging for. The hand was withdrawn by Dumbledore, who fixed Mr Weasley with a stern look. The man nodded and the knife appeared in Harry's vision. Gritting his teeth the man drew the knife over his wrist, blood falling from the cut. Harry cried out at the waste at the same time as he cried out in disgust at what his body felt upon seeing the blood. The cage was lowered again and Mr Weasley advanced as Harry retreated, shaking all over as he fought with his body for control. Cornered he watched with revulsion as the new wrist came towards him, hiding his face in his knees. Hands grasped his hair from behind and he screamed, cut off suddenly as the wrist was thrust upon him. He gagged, nearly throwing up, as the blood rolled down his throat. Tears fell down his face as he kept his eyes shut, trying to block everything out, the taste, the smell, the feelings, the lust, the loathing. He tried to get rid of the wrist but hands were holding his wrists against the bars that burned against his back. He struggled, he fought, he tried to get away, but the blood was calling to him and he eventually gave in, collapsing in the grasp of whoever was holding him down and sucking on Mr Weasley's wrist, drinking the blood down between sobs. As soon as they would let him he stopped drinking, spitting the taste out of his mouth and trying to ignore the memories of Ron, Fred, George, Ginny, Bill, Percy and Charlie as children, Mr and Mrs Weasley's first date, meeting Harry for the first time round the breakfast table at the burrow. Memories flashed through his mind as he rolled over and retched, bringing up much of what he had just taken in, all over the floor outside the cage. He collapsed onto his back once he was done, laying in the vomited blood that pooled beneath him. Looking up he focused on Snape. He let a tear fall from his eye and begged the man who he used to hate.

"Please, please," his knife was in his hands, holding it up to the man. "Please," Snape's face twisted with revulsion but took the knife. He held it to his wrist and Harry howled. Why were they doing this? Were they trying to send him mad with all these memories flowing through his mind. The flesh was cut and blood dripped onto his face.

Harry rolled over and covered his face, summoning the knife to his hand. He held it to Snape again, who was confused now, looking at Moody in puzzlement as he took it again. Harry then took the mans hand and placed the knife in it, then bringing it upon his own neck, his hands shaky.

"Please, please," he begged, looking Snape in the eye as the man realised what the boy before him truly wanted.

"Peace, pain, sleep. Please, end it all," he shut his eyes, relaxing as the knife remained on his neck, smiling for the first time in days, hoping this time it would happen. He could not do the deed himself, but Snape…

The knife was removed and he collapsed, his mind spinning off to some hidden place as he raged and cried, not noticing as the cage was locked again and the men stood round and watched him suffer. Eventually he quieted and lay there, motionless. The sticky taste of Mr Weasley's blood was still in his mouth and he spat weakly, not trying to clean away the red drool that dangled from his mouth. Tears fell and he knew them to be made of blood too. There was an argument happening. Mr Weasley and Snape were arguing at how Harry was being kept. The other two men were silent. It seemed to Harry though, that Snape and Mr Weasley were arguing for the same side.

"Why?" he asked in a moments silence when the men took breath. "Why?" no answer. "Let me go. Please, let me die," his voice filled with longing and he felt two men turn away at his obvious pain.

The door shutting behind them was answer enough, though they left him some water.

No one slept that night as his screams filled the house.

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A/N

Ok, i'm putting these down here for politeness. As I gain more reviews then I wont be able to thank people personally and it will be the ones I like most and those who get in first. Thanks to everyone who read this though, and even more to those who reviewed. I LOVE REVIEWS!!! I GET HYPER WHENEVER I GET ONE!!! My Boyfriend thinks I'm nuts :P:P:P

morwen24- Thanks, I am glad you enjoyed it :D I am planning on continuing and appologise that I haven't uploaded in a while.

Lightning Rain- Thank you on behalf of my description. I sometimes get bored of writing description and leave bits out but hopefully I wont do that on this or my other fic. Wait. Scrap that. I KNOW I have loads of description on my other fic because IT IS MASSIVE!!! 100 pages now!!! I feel a bit sorry for Harry too but (Spoiler possible warning you now) at least he gets to have a little bit of revenge later on with all his enemies :P

Mika- No, Harry didn't die as you can see. But he wishes he had, and that doesn't go away for a while, if ever. Heres the next chapter, as requested :D


	3. The Hearing

**Disclaimer- Sadly it isn't mine. If it was it probably would have died before it even got to the stage where I'd be able to send it to anyone. **

Ok, this is a short chapter compaired to the others. I know this but if I'd kept going it would be too big to modestly post so I'm doing it like this. I would like to thank my WONDERFUL reviewers, because I love them, and shortly I'm going to put replies to reviews. Maybe tonight when I get round to it. I'd just like to say that a review was what made me update this fic. I've had the chapter floating around my PC for a while but I never had the motivation to post it. I'm going to start to knuckle down with the fic soon and stop writing short pieces that never get finished.

Meh, good intentions heh?

Now, do people like lots of chapters in short bursts or longer chapters in long gaps between? I'm flexible, though I tend to just write and write and then go back and put chapters in later lol.

Wow, long author note lol. More l8r peeps.

Please review, even if it's just to say hi. Reviews really make an authors day. Whenever I get any I can't speak for ages because I know people like the fic. Critisims too, ok peeps?

Later dudes and dudetts. Hugs and Kisses -)

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**Chapter 3**

**Hearing**

A week had passed. He had head arguments throughout the days after his last 'feeding' as some in the house were calling it. Hermione and Ron had sat by his door many times until forbidden from going there, as all he did was scream at them, and anyone who came near him. He barely moved otherwise, doing his business where he lay and ignoring the smells and tastes.

Something had changed in the house this day though. There was a tension in it. Something had happened, or was going to happen. And the people here did not like it. Everyone left before midday, and he wondered why. He found out sooner than he might have liked.

People he didn't know had entered his room. He hid under the cover and blocked the light out. The people seemed horrified at the state of him and his living conditions. He knew none of them had his knife so he didn't expect a feed. He could not sense his knife anywhere in the house. They couldn't kill him either.

One woman cleared a throat. "Mr Harry Potter?" she croaked out. Harry remained silent. "Are you Harry James Potter of number four Privet Drive?" she asked, her voice slightly clearer as she retreated behind her protocol. Harry wondered if agreeing would make them go away. He nodded, silent. "I'm afraid we need a vocal confirmation," she prompted. Harry opened him mouth and coughed, throwing the covers off in a vain attempt to clear his airways. People retreated from him in revulsion. His face was covered in blood, as was his hair and chest. His glasses were missing, broken long ago in one of his rages. Tear streaks were visible through the blood. Scars covered his chest and neck. He coughed until he spat up more blood, and he tried to hide it in the covers, frantic to refuse to himself he had changed, his latest game. He croaked something to the woman that sounded like an affirmative. She continued, he voice weaker than it had been. "Mr Potter, the ministry has discovered that on the morning of the sixteenth of July you were visited by the vampire Abdukrahman at your residence, number four Privet Drive. Since then you have been missing, and it is known that you are now a vampire also. You are required to come with us to the ministry now…" she faltered as his expression did not change.

It took them an hour to get him out of the cage. When asked if he knew the spell to let him out he shook his head, sitting with his knees clutched to his chest and fighting against the urges to attack the first person he could. He was bound and gagged, then floated through the house. Portraits that lined the walls called out gloatingly to the officials, but Harry could easily ignore them in fear of what he knew was coming.

It was daylight. It would be painful. But he would see the sun again.

It was painful, but he screamed into the gag whilst ignoring the burning and feasted his eyes upon the sun for the first time in almost a month. He was gasping when he was placed in the ministry vehicle, and knew he would need feeding soon. He dreaded having to go through that without the knife. In a short while he was back out in the sun, screaming through the gag as he was hurried into the shade, gasping and writhing in his bonds. Perhaps he blacked out then, or was cursed, for when he woke again he was tied to a chair in the courtroom he had seen in Dumbledore's pensive, where he had had his own hearing the year before. He was still in his underwear only, and he was no cleaner than when he had left the cage. He would have felt ashamed, if he had been in any fit state to feel anything.

"Harry James Potter?" a commanding voice echoed in the room. He did not open his eyes, but made an affirmative sound again. There was an argument over whether that was a yes or no, but they decided it was a yes in the end.

"Mr Potter, on the sixteenth of July were you visited and initiated by Abdukrahman, a second level vampire." Harry didn't understand the name or the rank but nodded. Did it matter who he was initiated by?

"We ask Mr Potter why he did not come to the ministry to report the instance." Harry opened an eye.

"Do you think I did this to myself?" his voice was weak, but everyone in the room heard it.

"Are you saying you were forced to go to your godfathers' house, where you have been since that day?"

"Yes. I was asleep until the full moon. I have not slept since then." It hurt to talk, but longing for conversation outweighed the pain. He was used to pain now. He coughed after this however and blood splattered onto the floor next to him. He averted his eyes immediately, refusing to look at it.

"Why did Abdukrahman not take you with him once you were infected?" Infected. Horrible word, Harry dully thought.

"I don't know. He didn't spea- he did speak to me, but I don't remember what he said."

Arguments were going around the witches and wizards present as he finished.

"…obvious he didn't do it…"

"…look at him, he knows nothing of…"

"…why did…"

"….didn't Abdukrahman take him…"

"…high ranking…"

"Shh,"

"Please," Harry began to beg again, slumping defeated in the chair. "Please,"

"Yes? What do you ask?" the spokeswizard asked.

"Find my knife… then kill me." Gasps filled the room but he ignored them, fighting against the blood lust filling him.

"You _want_ us to kill you?" the wizard seemed incredulous.

Harry nodded, "Please, wizards are not meant to become vampires. Please, end it now." Tears leaked from his eyes as he cold crept up his neck. "Please, tie me up, lock me up, quick. I can feel it coming. I am going mad, I know it, but don't let me hurt anyone, please, I usually have such control over it. I haven't been fed for a week… I threw much of that up though…"

"A WEEK!" someone screeched. The chains on the chair tightened painfully on his arms. The madness seemed to take hold then. His empty veins sang to him and he screamed. Those who could tried to block out his suffering, whilst others watched in horrified fascination. Few had ever seen this happen to vampires, and certainly only one present in the room had.

For ten minutes he raged, the chains cutting through his flesh, but no blood came out. He was straining for the closest people desperately, needing food and air. He collapsed, exhausted and breathless, the chains loosening only slightly.

The door opened in the shocked silence that fell over the room. A white man entered, his black cape billowing in a non-existence wind. His hair was black, and his eyes were green. If Harry had slept to have had nightmares, this man would have been there, hidden in the background, neither good nor bad. Right now, to Harry, he was a familiar face, even if it was a feared one.

"Abdukrahman!" someone called, and people began to bow hesitantly.

"Silence!" the vampire bellowed, striding to Harry, lifting the head with a hand under his chin. "Blood-son, what has happened to you?" he asked, his voice deadly with sorrow and distress. Harry gazed into green eyes as tears dripped onto the hand. The man was perfectly clean, where as he was filth and dirt, covered in dead blood. He felt small and worthless, longing to die.

"Oh dear child," the man clasped Harry tight to him, his own tears falling onto the blood matted black hair. Harry shut his eyes. This was what he had needed, ever since the day it had happened. Someone who understood and could teach him how to cope. It didn't matter in this instance that this was the one who had infected him; it was someone who could help him. "I should never have done this to you. Oh child, forgive me," Harry did not know the language, did not know the words, yet they sorted themselves in his head like Parseltongue did. He tried to clutch at the man, but the chains were still holding him tight. With a glare from the man though they retreated and Harry threw his arms around the mans neck, sobbing as he was lifted out of the hated chair and carried to the door.

"Wait! What-"

"SILENCE!" he bellowed, making Harry wince as it was shouted in his sensitive ears. "I am taking my Blood-son with me now. Let it be known he is vampire claimed now. We shall not treat him as badly as you have." He strode out of the room, fury emanating from his whole body.

There had been painful light, noise and shock, sunlight for a moment and then a change to this house…building. It felt too big to be a house. Harry remembered little else until he was lain down again upon a mattress so soft he seemed to sink into it. His head was rested ever so gently onto an equally soft pillow, and silk sheets were drawn up over his now naked body. A soft, clean, warm cloth was washing his face, cleaning the blood away and making him feel better than he had in a long time. The touch was soft and kind, gentle on the spots where skin came away with blood, tender on the sore gums within his mouth. His hair was washed, hands massaging his scalp and sending him into an ecstasy he had never before experienced. He relaxed back into a doze whilst the person continued to the rest of his body, too tired to care about dignity and decency. He was clean again, and the bed was softer than he had ever known a bed to be. When the hands finished he curled up on his right side, facing the door as it had been when in the cage, and he felt himself slipping away from consciousness. He was awake long enough to feel the bed dip behind him and someone hold him close, as the nightmares began.

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**A/N: Thanks to ALL my readers, and special thanks to EVERYONE who reviewed. Reviews make an authors day:D**

morwen24I'm glad you had chill bumps, reading through it sometimes I wonder how I do it :D Thanks for your vote of confidence too, I'm not really sure where I'm going with it to be honest lol. I hate it too when people don't check their grammer and spelling, it really can ruin a story. If you see something that's still not quite right make sure to let me know so I can sort it! Thanks again:D

Lightning RainOh of course, they don't _really _care for Harry, or hadn't you noticed that lol. You wait till next chapter, we find out just HOW wrong they have gone. Harry's Blood-father is extreamly annoyed and we'll see that too in a few chapters. And as you see Harry has got out of there, only it wasn't his doing. Abdukrahman is of course going to have his hands full with Harry Potter as his Blood-son (Evil grin)

MoonjavaAs requested a new chapter -) sorry it's been a while, my muse has been absent for a while on this one.

BlackRaven13Wow I got a review from BlackRaven13! I'm so proud! Sorry for making you so sad and teary, I only hope I can do the same in later chapters ;-) Thanks for saying it's a unique story, I was searching for ages for a decent Vampite!Harry story without success, so I wrote one. I'm glad it's going down so well with everyone. Gotta say I love your works too.

RaskaniiSorry for making you cry, don't worry, I'll do my best to do it again. And of course I'm going to make Harry suffer, I'm the Author and I have an Evil!Muse! Actually it needs a name...

OK, I got a competition. I want to have a vote on what my Evil Muse should be called. Also should I do a Yahoo Group for this? If people say Yes I will do one, I know I never used to review on until I became an author, so do people think they will review better on Yahoo rather than here or not?

Feedback people!

Thanks again, and sorry for leaving you there. I know this chapter was shorter than the others (half the size!) but I had to end it there. Let me know peeps. Byeeeeeeee!


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